


Starbucks and the Development of Beverage Appreciation

by 33lavender



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2009, 2012, 2017, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Starbucks, i literally went to a starbucks to write this lol, only a little bit though dw it's a happy story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 09:46:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/33lavender/pseuds/33lavender
Summary: It wasn’t his fault, he wanted to tell her, he’d wanted a hot chocolate actually, but just at that moment he’d felt a tiny tug at the back of his shirt - a weight that hung there, still, pertaining to a Dan who had twisted his fingers in the material. Standing in the line at Starbucks it hit Phil for the tenth time in as many minutes that that was Dan, he was real and holding onto Phil in a way that was distinctly impossible for a collection of pixels on a screen to do.





	Starbucks and the Development of Beverage Appreciation

**Author's Note:**

> heya!! i love coffee and dnp so here we are

It was already a little too warm on the inside of the Starbucks Phil had chosen but he ordered himself a cappuccino anyway. Or perhaps it was just Phil, perhaps it was just the persistent blush that had crept up his neck just recently, threatening to reveal itself from beneath the collar of his t-shirt. Funnily enough, his heart had started racing at around the same time, and Phil wondered whether Dan was feeling the stuffiness also. 

 

It had been no help for Phil’s red cheeks when the kind lady behind the register had gently suggested a tall cappuccino for him, after he had simply gaped at her when she’d asked for his order. 

 

It wasn’t his fault, he wanted to tell her, he’d wanted a hot chocolate actually, but just at that moment he’d felt a tiny tug at the back of his shirt - a weight that hung there, still, pertaining to a Dan who had twisted his fingers in the material. Standing in the line at Starbucks it hit Phil for the tenth time in as many minutes that _that was Dan_ , he was _real_ and holding onto Phil in a way that was distinctly impossible for a collection of pixels on a screen to do. 

 

“One tall cappuccino, any sugar?” the woman, whose tarnished name badge read ‘Cheryl’, prompted. 

 

“Um. One, thanks.” Cheryl added a mark to Phil’s cup. The harsh scent of permanent marker briefly overtook the general waft of coffee and miscellaneous syrups, and thankfully it brought Phil back to the world of the mentally present. “What would you like, Dan?” 

 

Phil turned to Dan, who faltered for a second under Phil’s gaze. “Caramel macchiato, please,” he said, fishing his wallet from his pocket.

 

“What - no - don’t be silly, Dan, it’s my treat.” 

 

“No! I can pay, Phil, it’s fine -”

 

Dan’s half-hearted protest died in his throat as Phil handed Cheryl a twenty-pound note with a smug smile that was Dan was sure was there, even if he couldn’t see it. He grinned at the floor, and at the little wrinkle he’d left in Phil’s meticulously ironed shirt. 

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly, once they had nabbed an empty red lounge. It was a little out of shape, but it was squishy, and it faced the road. 

 

“What kind of tour guide would I be if I made you pay for your own Starbucks?” 

 

“A normal one?” 

 

“Well,” Phil said, shifting almost imperceptibly towards Dan so that the knees were just brushing - not enough to suggest too much, but enough that it sent a little buzz of nerves to Phil’s stomach - “that would be boring, wouldn’t it?” 

 

Without a hint of subtlety, Dan pushed his leg further forward again, so a good few centimetres of denim was pressed together. “I don’t think you’ve ever been boring in your life.” 

 

It _was_ very warm in this Starbucks, Phil decided. 

 

 

***

 

12PM, no Dan. 

 

It was no big deal, Phil told himself. Dan often stayed up into the early hours of the morning, as did Phil himself; he was probably just catching up on sleep. 

 

Still, he found himself with his feet firmly planted outside Dan’s door, ears straining for any sounds of life from inside. Dan rolling over in bed, typing or clicking, watching something, the sound of a turning page. The walls were thin. Phil couldn’t hear a thing. 

 

He knocked, once, twice. “Dan? Are you up?” 

 

Unsurprised, he was met with more silence. Something in him decided against opening the door, so with an involuntary nod that Phil supposed was meant to make himself believe that this was how it was supposed to be, he padded back to the lounge room. Maybe the low buzz of the TV would draw Dan out. 

 

2PM, and Phil knew Dan was awake. A little green dot next to his Facebook profile picture (him in Portugal, grinning up at something off-camera, with the sea behind him) meant he was online. 

 

_1:54PM - Received_

 

_do you want me to bring you a coffee?_

 

_2:00PM - Received_

 

_I can go get a nice one from Starbucks if you want_

 

Phil watched the screen, chewing his lip. He counted the seconds in his head. A little tick appeared next to his message in his and Dan’s chat window.

 

_2:02PM - Seen_

 

Phil kept counting, and when he got to 100 and the typing bubble hadn’t appeared next to Dan’s picture, he swallowed, shut his laptop too hard and sent it sliding off his lap and thudding to the floor. 

 

Cursing, Phil bent to pick it up. As he straightened up, a blurry figure appeared in the doorway, a mass of a bright pink shirt and grey sweatpants that Phil didn’t need his glasses to picture perfectly in his mind. 

 

“I heard you swearing.” 

 

Dan seemed so tiny. How had Phil failed to notice? He saw more of Dan’s body than Dan himself likely did - although, Phil thought, maybe he didn’t. He was sure Dan hadn’t seemed so small the last time Phil had had his hands on him. 

 

“Dropped my laptop,” he muttered, not breaking eye contact until Dan did, digging his toe into a hole in their carpet. 

 

It was possible that Phil was just forgetting. 

 

Suddenly, Phil’s hands itched, burned with wanting just to reach out and touch Dan, to walk to him and put his hands on Dan’s waist, just to prove to himself that he hadn’t forgotten a thing. He could still predict every curve and divot better than he could his own body, could still mould himself to the shape of Dan. 

 

Dan was already retreating. “Oh, right. Is it ok?”

 

“It’s fine. Do you wanna watch TV with me?” The words tumbled out, like his lips were moving before his tongue had the chance to shape them properly. The question hung in the air, brashly hopeful and dripping with thinly veiled hurt. 

 

_Sure_ , came Dan’s voice from inside his mind, confident and strong and sure. _Of course I do, I miss you._ Dan had a few too many voices, though, and the one that came out was the one that lied, the one that forced itself out in what it considered self-defense. 

 

“Um, I think I might head back to bed, actually. I was reading something.” 

 

“Ok.” Phil didn’t look up this time. His eyes, unseeing, stayed trained on the hole in the carpet until Dan’s door had closed behind him. 

 

That night, after Dan had finally emerged for dinner and they’d both gone to bed, Phil awoke with a dry mouth. Finding the glass on his bedside table empty, he reluctantly pushed back the covers and crossed the room blearily in search of water. As he stepped outside his door, however, he was suddenly confronted by his foot landing in something wet. 

 

Confused and still half-asleep, he blinked at the floor for a few seconds, struggling to comprehend why there had been a mug of cold, beige liquid outside his door. With a hushed yelp, his brain caught up enough to realise that it was now spilling all over the carpet, and Phil rushed to the kitchen to fetch a roll of paper towel. 

 

_Coffee._ The smell was unmistakable as Phil knelt to mop it up. And unless he was dreaming, he hadn’t been the one who’d put it there. 

 

 

***

 

 

“Yeah, hi, would I be able to get a jasmine green tea and a flat white with one sugar, please?” 

 

“Yep, anything else today?”

 

“Um…” Dan scanned the rows of cakes and sandwiches on offer. “And one of the blueberry muffins, please.” 

 

“No problem,” the waitress said, her nails clicking on the screen as she processed Dan’s order. “Is that all?” 

 

“Yeah, thanks.” 

 

Dan felt a tiny tug on the back of his jacket, and felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth. Craning his neck over his shoulder, Dan saw that Phil was holding up a tall, white ceramic mug decorated with a gold dog design, waving it in triumph. So far, this festive season, they’d been unable to leave any Starbucks without an accompanying seasonal mug to add to their vast collection; all Phil’s doing, of course. 

 

“Oh, actually,” Dan said quickly to the waitress, “would we be able to get this, too?” She nodded, adding it to their total. “You can pay next time,” Dan muttered over his shoulder. 

 

“What’s yours is mine!” 

 

“Don’t you mean ‘what’s mine is yours?’” 

 

Dan looked up from paying for their order in time to catch Phil’s cheeky grin. “No.” 

 

“Shut up. Stingy bastard.” 

 

A short walk away from Starbucks was a small, relatively secluded park, with a duckpond surrounded by high, thick hedges. The foliage meant that the park bench close to the pond was invisible to the road and passersby on the walkway on the other side, so naturally it was a favourite of Dan and Phil’s. 

 

The weather was chilly enough that most others who may have been thinking of snatching up that bench decided to stay home, so the two rugged-up men were left alone, sipping their respective drinks in contented silence. 

 

Dan’s attention had been caught by a duck with a peculiar waddle, and Phil took his opportunity. Stealthily, he removed the lid of his coffee. 

 

“Hey, Dan.” Looking up at the sound of his name, Dan barely had time to smile for the camera before Phil was snapping away. 

 

“What are you doing?” 

 

“Look,” Phil said, grinning. 

 

“Hot contents,” Dan read aloud. He fixed Phil with a fond glare, barely concealed as exasperation. 

 

“What? I’m complimenting you!” 

 

“As you should be, after I paid for your crap.” 

 

Gleefully - as Phil often was, for some reason, when Dan attempted to insult him - Phil poked the tip of Dan’s wind-reddened nose, leaving a sliver of coffee foam there. 

 

“Why are you so happy? We’re freezing our tits off out here,” Dan said, his wide smile betraying his words. 

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

 

Dan took a sip of his green tea - he was yet to convince Phil to make the switch, not that it was likely at all - mostly to give himself to look away from Phil’s face, innocent in simple joy and so pretty it hurt. 

 

“You have a point.” 

**Author's Note:**

> tysm for reading!! find me on tumblr @ floralhowelllester . please don't be afraid to leave comments, i love love lovevevveee hearing from you guys x


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